Lacrimosa
by Bemused Writer
Summary: What if the world wasn't what it appeared to be on the surface? When they return to Paris after the events at Gévaudan, Vanitas shares some thoughts on where things stand and what might be in store for them.


"Do you know," Vanitas began, "that life can follow death."

It had been a quiet day; Vanitas hadn't spoken much after the events with Chloé but he'd been especially quiet after Noé had marveled at modern ingenuity, speaking of how clean the air was, how nice it was to be home. It had been a passing remark, something to distract them from their rather humbling return to Paris but Noé knew, somehow, it had brought an even fouler mood upon Vanitas than he'd been in previously.

This was the first he'd spoken all day. Noé supposed it made sense he would do so while they sat on the rooftop, Paris's dark skies overhead, thunder rumbling in the distance. It wasn't cold; it was actually quite humid. Noé wished they would go inside.

"I've heard the philosophy," Noé said rather than voice any of his other thoughts. "What of it?" Of course, Vanitas had phrased it in such a vague fashion he could have meant anything at all. Did he speak of the Christian doctrine of an immortal soul? Or was it something else entirely?

"What if I told you it was true in a twisted, abstract kind of way?"

"I don't know," Noé said wearily, "but I'd be willing to listen."

Vanitas glanced at him from the corner of his eye, eyes cold and blank and hopeless. It was so reminiscent of when Noé had told him what he did was right. "And do you know what a vanitas is?"

"Your name," he said with a sardonic mile and then, "but also a type of painting. I always thought it was an odd form of address."

"Noé…" he sighed.

"I'm not being facetious," Noé insisted, although maybe he was just a little, "but I don't understand what you're getting at."

Vanitas gave him a gentle frown, nodded slightly, and gestured at the city before them. "You love this city. You love Paris. But you saw the horrors of Chloé's instrument. Naenia … she was alive once. She was Queen Faustina."

"I know," Noé said quietly. "I've been wondering about what that means." It had been haunting him if he were to put it more directly. He kept thinking that if Naenia could be returned to how she was … couldn't other members of Charlatan? And what did that mean? Was Charlatan merely … a parade of the dead? If that was the case…

Louis could be one of them.

"I thought you might and… It's just, you said you wanted to know my thoughts. When I know something." It was hesitant, stilted, and suddenly Noé was concerned.

"I do. Please tell me."

Vanitas was strung tightly, Noé could see that much, and he was awfully pale once more. There was another distant crack of thunder.

"I knew Charlatan was like … that. They're names. Ghosts." Noé's heart sank. So, he was right. "But it made me wonder about other things. The world formula."

"All right…" Noé tried to focus on what more he had to say rather than focus on Louis, Louis, he could have Louis back—

Vanitas's tension was beginning to seep into him and he found himself glancing about as if someone might hear and snatch them away.

"Astermite stems from the world formula just like vampires. But it can't come from nothing, surely you know that."

"Vanitas, just tell me what you're getting at," he said a touch impatiently. "You're talking about Charlatan, vampires, astermite… None of it is connecting."

More to the point, he didn't want it to connect because if it did it was all so much worse and he'd had a terrible time of it and Chloé was… Jean-Jacques was…

"But don't you see," he said with a sudden intensity that sent Noé's nerves skyrocketing, "it is the same. Life and death, chaos and peace… It all has to come from something."

"Vanitas, please." He was genuinely frightened now and he still didn't even know what of.

"The dead come back to life," he said ferociously. "They never just rest. Astermite, Charlatan… if they have the same source it means it's all wrong. This whole world is just … recycled."

"You're saying astermite is fueled by vampires' … names?" he whispered, horrified, connecting the dots against his will. "We're being used as fuel?"

"The Church," Vanitas intoned, "is not a force of peace in this world, Noé. Neither is Charlatan and it's all colliding now. Chloé, Ruthven," Noé cringed at his name but he wasn't sure why; there was something just on the edge of his memory-, "the paladins, all of it. What if it's all connected? What if it's all part of something greater, something you're not ready to confront?"

"That's enough," Noé said, his voice trembling. "Vanitas, that would be a world of horrors."

"Just like a vanitas painting: transient, cyclical … endless."

"I'm going inside," Noé said, standing suddenly. Vanitas's eyes followed him, hollow and frigid. Noé felt that chill to his bones; he shook as he stepped through the window. Vanitas didn't follow.

I once told him his eyes are like astermite, he thought, feeling sick. Like starlight itself.

He stared at his bed numbly. Sleep would not help him now.

He thought back to that strange member of Charlatan that had extended its hand to him. It had sounded so familiar, like a ghost from his past.

"Louis…" His trembles grew as if he'd been struck by ague. If what Vanitas said was true than the world was built on a mountain of lies and it couldn't be sustained. His friend was the dead come back to life and their clean air was the byproduct of more death.

What would he tell Domi?

More importantly, what was he supposed to do now?

Outside the storm finally caught up and their room was lit up with fulgurant shades of white and blue. Strangely, the storm calmed him. If he couldn't calm the storm of his heart then at least it could rage on outside.

Vanitas didn't return that night. The next day they returned to more mundane subjects. The conversation was put quietly to rest but Noé knew he couldn't escape it forever. Just like the dead it would make itself known someday. It was just a matter of whether he'd know what to do with it when it did.

* * *

Author Notes:

This is a short piece but I've had this idea that astermite is probably some kind of cursed material and I had to do something with it. Considering how bleak other things are looking so far, I figure it might possibly be connected to larger events. Let me know what you thought!


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